I wrote a review of a great annotated edition, but since people might not think to grab/search for it, thought I'd copy it over here. Couldn't recommeI wrote a review of a great annotated edition, but since people might not think to grab/search for it, thought I'd copy it over here. Couldn't recommend it more highly. See here....more

I read The Importance of Being Earnest twice in school -- once in high school, once in college -- and I've seen not only the 1952 film, and the newerI read The Importance of Being Earnest twice in school -- once in high school, once in college -- and I've seen not only the 1952 film, and the newer film, but also several stage adaptations. This isn't to say I consider myself some kind of expert, just that when my book club voted this in for June's book, I considered not reading it again. What else could I possibly gain from it that those iterations hadn't imparted?

Well, as it turns out, the answer is quite a bit, thanks to the Dartmouth library possessing this great annotated version.

Thanks to the notes in here, I discovered that much of the deeply funny material was actually added in later, when Wilde was starving in Paris and revised this and An Ideal Husband in an attempt to make more money. He refused to write anything new, but made significant revisions to Earnest, which had already been a hit when it was performed a few years earlier. The footnotes mark which parts were added or revised, and it's a considerable amount.

The notes also include references to Wilde's personal life, which mention that Lady Bracknell was likely inspired by Wilde's mother, who was also a headstrong woman, and that the whole concept of bunburrying was no doubt inspired by Wilde's double-life as a gay man who has a wife and family. Additionally, Worthing, John's last name, is the seaside resort where Wilde vacationed with his family so he could write Earnest - and while there, he not only had multiple visits from his lover, Alfred Douglas, but also managed to carry out an affair with another young man. I mean, my heavens, the man was busy in more ways than one if you catch my drift.

And I'm not sure this needs a spoiler tag, but just in case you, dear reader, happen to be one of the few that haven't experienced this, I'll put it behind one -- (view spoiler)[

Lastly, another thing that stood out was the note that, in the original version of the play, when Algernon (as "Earnest") and Cecily meet, after sorting through their whole engagement business (such a good scene), they apparently run off and have sex! I don't know if the adaptations I read cut that out to make it more school appropriate, or the teachers I had simply didn't go there, or what. But it makes this scene even funnier in that while John arrives with "Earnest's" Ashes in tow -- not only is "Earnest" not dead, he's very much alive and banging John's ward. (hide spoiler)]

Some of this seems obvious in hindsight, and it's possible that we did get into some of it in school and I just wasn't paying attention, but I felt like we mostly focused on the hilarious, hilarious text. Which is quite understandable.

So, you see, not only was I wrong that I couldn't learn more about this, I was heartily wrong, and I thoroughly enjoyed my wrongness at that.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more

If you look at the things I list as interests on my GR profile, this book has basically all of them: "Magical Realism, Narrative Non-Fiction, MysteryIf you look at the things I list as interests on my GR profile, this book has basically all of them: "Magical Realism, Narrative Non-Fiction, Mystery and Crime, Travel, Geography-specific genres (i.e. Southern Gothic, the American West/Westerns), and pretty much anything that has soul or makes me cry." So this should be up my alley, right? It ends up holding true to the old saying about too much of a good thing, in that it felt like Hendricks was trying to do way too much here.

The story is and should be inherently fascinating. Hendricks' father was found at the Tri-State Crematorium, famous for a case a few years ago where it was discovered that the proprietor, Brent Marsh, was leaving bodies lying around the property in mass graves and metal lockers instead of actually cremating them (well, he cremated some bodies, but not all). Hendricks' father was one of the bodies left laying around. Hendricks weaves a tale about his father's death and the sort of limbo he's left in by not having been cremated (oh, and having been dug up from his initial burial by Hendricks' mother, who didn't want to be buried with her husband in their joint plot because the idea of being eaten by worms freaked her out - which, fair).

On top of the story about Tri-State Crematorium and his father's death and on-going deadness, he weaves in bits about history, religion, the experience of living in the south, etc., and it just begins to feel unwieldy, the connections he draws are thin and reaching at times, and it just distracts from the real meat of the story. I eventually began to skim the parts that weren't directly related to his story. I couldn't emotionally connect with Hendricks, and the various deviations felt like his own way of putting his own emotions at bay - and I think I'd rather he'd just bared his soul and done the deeper dive. He doesn't even really get that deep into his relationship with his father beyond to give a few examples of their relationship as it evolved through sports activities. It kind of stops there. If he wanted to digress without getting too entrenched in his own emotional trauma, then maybe just stick to the incident and instead do more research on the Tri-State matter, interviews with other families or something... I don't know. It felt like he didn't have enough for a book about Tri-State so he just threw in some other random bits to try to flesh it out, and I wonder if maybe that's the case, if maybe this should've been a novella or a long newspaper feature instead of a full book.

On top of the insanity of the story, the writing is beautiful, which is why it was a bit disappointing to not have found it more powerful, but I just wanted more....more

I never had to read Catcher in the Rye for school - which, based on the reactions of my many friends who did, seems like it might've been a good thingI never had to read Catcher in the Rye for school - which, based on the reactions of my many friends who did, seems like it might've been a good thing. However, because I never had to read Catcher in school, I wound up having never read Salinger until now, basically. I remember house-sitting for a professor the summer after college, and she had a copy of Franny and Zooey that I tried to pick up then, but just couldn't get into it. Since I'm now living across the river from where Salinger lived, it seemed high time for me to get around to reading something of his, and I did end up buying Catcher in the Rye at a thrift store last year - but then someone in book club nominated this before I got to Catcher.

Since so many people I know adore Salinger, and this book in particular, I feel like I might've gone into this with some fairly intense expectations, though I desperately tried not to take any with me, since he seems like a love him or hate him kind of guy. Still, deep down I hoped that I would fall in love with Salinger the way that so many people I know have, and I just... didn't, sadly.

I had much the same issues with Franny and Zooey (and, to be fair, mostly the “Zooey” section – I thought the “Franny” part was fantastic) that I did with The Corrections, which is to say that all the family quibbling, the "boo-hoo my family fucked me up" stuff just doesn't touch a nerve with me in either a sympathetic or empathetic way. My reaction tends to be along the lines of "whoop-dee-doo, everyone's got family drama and yours isn't so special, get the hell over it." It's not totally fair, I know, and I would never say that to a friend or family member who needed to confide in me regarding their own family strife, and I wouldn't have that reaction regarding someone's true life story. But that's the thing - once your family drama goes to the place that mine has, you lose patience for the the fictional stuff and it becomes way less palatable as an artistic subject and pursuit - or at least that's how it's gone for me. The things I've been through, the things some of my friends and family members have been through... so many of us have walked through the fire to turn out fine. Not without battle scars, but fine none-the-less, and those are the stories that move me, that touch me, that affect me. Most fictions just can't hold a candle to any of that, and I don't find solace or comfort in the attempt, though I know there are those who do. A couple folks in book club mentioned that this reminded them of Wes Anderson and The Royal Tenenbaums and I get that, too – and I have problems with Anderson’s oeuvre for the exact same reason. The man makes the same "woe is me, I’ve got mommy and daddy issues" movie every time, basically.

Additionally, I feel compelled to mention that this also touched a nerve with most of the people in book club, who have more of a standard or typical family - two (living) parents, siblings, etc. My immediate family is just me and my mother, so some of those dynamics of a larger family are lost on me.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t any family-based narratives that I like, because there are - Middlesex, Midnight’s Children for example, or more recently, Winter’s Bone - but so many of those books use the family as a way to view larger issues, they break outside the bubble. It’s these family stories that live in their own little fishbowls that I often find exhausting and, frankly, kind of boring!

Much like The Corrections I also had a hard time with suspension of disbelief at points – which, I know, is hilarious coming from someone who just eats up A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones - but in the guise of a premise that wants to convey a type of reality, having your characters deliver their thoughts almost exclusively in long rambling monologues just doesn’t feel like a thing that actually happens except in books and plays.

Again, to be fair, most of the issues I took with Franny and Zooey related mostly to the second (and larger) half of the story, based around Zooey. The first segment, told from Franny’s eyes, was the most interesting and, for me, the most relatable. Franny struggles with things that I’ve definitely struggled with, and in some ways, continue to – the notion of being tired of everyone wanting celebrity, recognition, pursuits that seem so shallow compared to some of life’s harsher experiences. Personally, fame and wealth have never been motivating factors or interests for me, and when people are gushing over their issues of Us Weekly or the latest updates on TMZ I always feel out of place because I just don’t see the appeal.

I do appreciate the message of Zooey’s counterpoint to Franny, which more or less seemed to be that people should devote themselves to the things they love to do, the things they’re good at, or to put it more in the language of the book, the gifts and talents that God gave them, and that doing so doesn’t mean they’re driven by ego or selfishness as Franny fears. (The religious aspect is another thing that I just don’t connect with as someone who grew up with a pretty small dose of religion – I went to a Unity church for a couple years with infrequent regularity while growing up and today I’m your friendly neighborhood agnostic, hello, nice to meet you.) But, while I appreciated the overall message of Zooey’s chapter, the delivery just didn’t work enough for me to feel the full weight of the message.

Franny and Zooey does strike me as something that I probably need to read again, and might appreciate and connect with more a second time around. Until then, I’m the jerk that gave this three stars....more

A book about Elvis inciting a fight in Mexico as a premise sounds pretty damn incredible, am I right? What's not to love about that? Basically, that aA book about Elvis inciting a fight in Mexico as a premise sounds pretty damn incredible, am I right? What's not to love about that? Basically, that alone was more than enough to sell me, and I already anticipate that I'll need to revisit this one, as life circumstances at the time meant I had to break it up into small chunks instead of breezing through it all at once, like I had wanted to.

Essentially, Elvis is filming a movie in Mexico and wants his accent to be legit - South American Spanish as opposed to Spain Spanish - so he hires Ruibérriz de Torres (who apparently appears in other Marías books) to help him with his pronunciation, but de Torres basically ends up serving as a translator for most of the trip. A fight breaks out during one of the cast and crew's nights out at a bar and things escalate from there.

More than anything, Bad Nature ultimately ends up being about the power of words and language, the intricacies and unintended consequences. To get into it more than that is to over-express the whole thing, and honestly it's so short as to be worth reading..

Part of the reason why I wish I'd read it in one clip is because the first few pages take a bit to get into - Marías writes with a particular rhythm that takes time to adapt to, but ends up being the perfect treatment for the story and the subject.

I'd love to do a deeper dive on this, but it's been awhile now since I've read it, and ultimately, I think it's probably worth your time if you remotely have any interest - it's 57 pages, just go for it.

This is my first and only Marías thus far, and while I don't feel as though I can make any greater conclusions about his work, it was enough that I would consider something else of his, though I've heard decidedly mixed things about The Infatuations. If you've read something of his you've liked, I'd like to hear about it....more

The best part of Crash was the "Introduction to the French Edition" that's included at the start and isn't in all of the copies. In it, Ballard makesThe best part of Crash was the "Introduction to the French Edition" that's included at the start and isn't in all of the copies. In it, Ballard makes a compelling case for the importance of science-fiction and writing about the future, and a solid argument for why he thought to combine sex and car crashes. Unfortunately, that's the only time in 200-ish pages that he had me convinced.

Ballard's tale of people who get aroused by car crashes and mutilated bodies has aged poorly. In the '70s, it was still predicting the future, and the subject matter was probably still shocking. But in a time when we've seen technology and sex combine in myriad ways, and books like 50 Shades of Grey are being read by middle-aged women on the beach (not that I find that shocking, either, but I'm sure they would've in the '70s), it doesn't feel stunning, or for that matter, correct.

Ballard was right about the isolating effect technology has had on sex, and computers, like the cars in Crash, do serve as a vessel. But the computer itself isn't the fantasy. The computer simply connects the fantasies. One could make the argument that the early days of computer technology did play a more direct role in sexual fantasies in that before things like webcams, you were typing, and the act of typing and describing sex was the turn-on (well, and the rubbing one out part). Now computers have webcams, and you can find free porn in a wealth of places, and the computer doesn't have the same role, per se, in the sex, beyond being a device for communicating or the means of delivery.

Frankly, though, I expected the connection between the crashes and the sex to be stronger. He's trying to convince the reader that the car crashes are what turns these people on, but when you look at it closely, it's the injuries and just having sex in cars that seems to do it for them. They look at photos of surgical and medical textbooks and it seems to give them a similar thrill. The attempts to blend the two was tenuous at best. I kept expecting them to fuck each other with parts of the car, or to start beating each other bloody during sex, or to drive while having sex, or to get in car crashes and then bang in the wreckage, and none of that ever happened. Granted, maybe that's the point - that faced with all of this, the mind just conjures up ways that it could be more explicit.

It seems like he was reaching for that kind of point, but it didn't fully come through. Ballard writes in this dry, repetitive, clinical style that makes the book boring. Trying to make the sensational and horrific boring could very well be the point, except that works against the other point that he's trying to make, which is that technology will become a significant part of our sex lives - I mean, wouldn't you want your readers to be turned on? That, to me, would've been more horrifying - to experience the same sexual drive and thrill as the characters do from all this carnage. Instead, the language isolates the reader and deadens them to the whole experience. The boring-ification of sex and car crashes doesn't say much about the merging of sex and technology so much as it says something about the way media and news are produced and presented right now.

I don't regret reading it, but I can't say I enjoyed the experience or would want to subject myself to it again. ...more

This is the review I accidentally closed-out, half finished, but it's okay. I didn't have a great start to it, and in all truth, I still don't. Much lThis is the review I accidentally closed-out, half finished, but it's okay. I didn't have a great start to it, and in all truth, I still don't. Much like the book itself, my feelings about Cloud Atlas are all over the place.

Like a quilt, David Mitchell weaves together interlocking stories -- of Adam Ewing, a notary on a distressing sea voyage -- of Robert Frobisher, an ambitious young composer studying under his hero -- of Luisa Rey, a journalist with a dangerous scoop -- of Timothy Cavendish, a finicky publisher who suddenly hits bank -- of Sonmi~451, a genetically engineered fabricant (clone), who works in an exploitative fast food chain -- and of Zachry, a goat herder whose community is constantly raided by a neighboring violent tribe.

Each story takes place in a different time period, is written in a different style, and generally uses a different kind of language or conversational voice. As far as the more technical aspects of writing go - tone, structure, vocabulary - Mitchell truly puts on a clinic. Not only would Cloud Atlas fail in lesser hands, I don't think someone without a certain level of confidence would even imagine to attempt such a thing. It's all a bit overwhelming to even think about, let alone talk about, which is what makes it so difficult to write a review for.

The stories are connected in a multitude of ways - through the plot (one character finds a book about the previous one, or some letters, or a movie, or a manuscript, or a video), as well as the themes. Whether from a broad or narrow view, most of the stories are about the whys and hows of humans exploiting and manipulating one another - for power, for money, for fame. It's sad but not unrealistic that Mitchell sees this cycle continuing well into the future. (Additionally, some of the main characters share a birthmark, which I found a bit heavy-handed.)

All in all, it's deeply impressive, down to every last detail, from the way that language is shortened in the future to more product-name slang ("disneys" for films, "sonys" for portable computers), to the way that the novel follows the pattern of Frobisher's "Cloud Atlas Sextet," or how Cavendish talks about his seemingly sly literary references that he thinks might go over others' heads (which seems to be a nod to some of Mitchell's literary references, as well).

However [dum dum dum], while much of Cloud Atlas was dizzying, outstanding, impressive, etc., there was something missing for me that would've taken it into that highest level of book enjoyment, and that's heart, soul. It's honestly a bit sad to me that something that hinges so much upon the perseverance of spirit, the strength of the human soul, didn't, for me, seem to have much.

In this case, what makes the novel is also what slightly breaks it - hovering above each story by expending a lot of effort and thought on style and format, the reader doesn't touch down long enough with each character to develop a strong connection to all of them. To some extent this may be the point - we hear all sorts of stories, meet all sorts of people in our lives, and not all of them speak to us or reach us. In this case, though, what's strong is so strong that it makes the rest of what's there look more pale in its shadow. I could've spent a whole book with Frobisher, but Zachry's segment was the very definition of grueling. I was interested in each story, but that's not exactly the same as caring. Parts I read because I was curious to see what happened, but only in a few cases did I form an emotional attachment to any of the characters. I don't need to like them, per se, but I do want to feel some sort of reaction to them. (view spoiler)[I was sad when Frobisher killed himself, in part because it didn't feel entirely consistent with his character - he has so much pride, not only in himself, but in his work, and I'd think he'd want to live on if only for that - but also because he was the character I felt most for. I liked Adam Ewing and Sonmi~451, but mostly out of sympathy - Ewing for not realizing sooner what was going on, and Sonmi~451 because there was just no way for her to get a decent lot in life. (hide spoiler)]

It could be, in part, because I had heard so many people rave about this that I went into it with expectations that were a little too high. Or, it might've been because I knew so much about the stories already from the (not great) movie. I just ended up wanting a little bit more than it could deliver. That said, with so much going on here, I do think Cloud Atlas lends itself to multiple readings, and this may be one that I end up coming back to in a few years.

It's definitely a fresh and innovative work, and was a good choice to start off the New Year with. I think readers who are drawn to writers who play with concept and form, or who want to read something that tackles life at a higher level, will particularly like this one. I appreciate and enjoy all of those things - I just also want to be rendered into a speechless pile of mush (whether from sadness or from joy) at the same time.

Also have to note that I read this in conjunction with my cousin Kelly, who some of you might know from her fantastic reviews on here. Looking forward to reading her thoughts about it, as well.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more

A collection of stories connected by items in a suitcase - things our narrator brought with him upon emigrating from the USSR. Who the "he" is, exactlA collection of stories connected by items in a suitcase - things our narrator brought with him upon emigrating from the USSR. Who the "he" is, exactly, is a bit curious. While billed as a novel, our narrator seems to be Dovlatov himself, though when contrasted with what is known of his life, it doesn't hold up as firm autobiography, nor as complete fiction -- hovering in that all-too familiar place of half-truth.

It becomes clear each item in the suitcase has outgrown its usefulness, the suitcase having been long buried in a closet and rediscovered only when a child pulls it out. The things are shuffled through and kept, not because they're needed - and it forces one to consider what items truly are, for that matter - but because of the memories they trigger, or the great personal cost it took to acquire them.

The stories shift from being darkly comic to simply dark as time goes on, and while the narrative isn't strictly chronological, it does move vaguely from youth to jobs, marriage, children, emigration. If you're looking for political commentary, it only holds so much - Dovlatov, or at least the Dovlatov of the book, openly admits that he's not the type to make a fuss and tends to accept things in a matter-of-fact way. He's happy to point out flaws in the system, and even to maneuver around them, but isn't the slashing tires, starting fires sort of guy.

The only fault was simply that I wanted more, but from what I've seen, Dovlatov seems to be a devotee of shorter works, which our 200-page-limit book club that I read this for has truly given me an appreciation for. Considering how many of the big Russians of literature are long-winded, I can appreciate someone who goes down as easy as vodka*.

*for the characters in The Suitcase, that is. For me, it'd be whiskey. I left my taste for vodka back in college. Though I admit this made me briefly reconsider....more

I tend to be hesitant to read buzzworthy authors in the midst of their ascendancy, only because I have a rebellious streak in me and I often go in toI tend to be hesitant to read buzzworthy authors in the midst of their ascendancy, only because I have a rebellious streak in me and I often go in to those kinds of books wanting to tear them apart. But I know this about myself, which is why I try to wait a bit in an attempt to give each book its best shot at dazzling me. I feel like I've heard about Ferrante all year - more-so for her most recent book/series, The Neopolitan Novels, but also for this (and for the mystery surrounding her identity).

I have to say, if The Days of Abandonment is representative of the rest of her works, then I completely get why Elena Ferrante's name is gracing so many lips lately.

A whirlwind tale of Olga, whose husband, Mario, leaves her - and their two children, and dog - to fend for their family in the wake of his abandonment. I haven't been married, nor do I have children, but if you've been through any particularly devastating separation or break-up you'll recognize at least some of the emotions that are here: feeling like the world is crashing down without you being able to support its full weight, your mind drifting down paths it shouldn't - explicit imagery of sexual betrayal, self-loathing, the destructive hunger to make yourself feel better even for a moment, without regard to consequences.

Ferrante introduces us to these characters slowly - for example, we learn their names incidentally, naturally, as opposed to deliberately - as though we have happened upon their story by chance. Her prose has a natural grace, not too simple nor to flowery, and reads with both ease and with depth - a line about something that initially feels innocuous will unexpectedly send you reeling.

What makes Olga so wonderful is that she feels so true to life - she's neither a desperate lump of a woman who can't function without a man, nor is she some sort of superwoman who sheds men like skin - she's parts of both, at different times and in different ways. She both gets openly frustrated with her children and knows how to soothe them. She wants to lash out at Mario and at times she does - but at other times, restrains herself. She represents not only the fragments of life that remain when someone has removed themselves, but the way we put ourselves back together.

This is probably readable in a cozy afternoon, but honestly, it was a bit too intense for me to handle in one sitting. (view spoiler)[Especially the part where Otto dies - as a dog co-owner, that just gutted me. (hide spoiler)] I would devour it in huge chunks, then have to walk away for a bit, because it was a little too upsetting at times - which is a compliment to Ferrante, don't get me wrong.

Another one that may end up getting that fifth star in a month or two, and certainly more than enough for me to seek out Ferrante again.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more

I'd like to start by saying that is the first of the classic hard-boiled detective novels I've read, so I don't have much of a touchstone for if thisI'd like to start by saying that is the first of the classic hard-boiled detective novels I've read, so I don't have much of a touchstone for if this is a good example, or a good starting place, or what. The genre appeals to me, but without anything to compare, it's hard for me to know how this measures up to other books of a similar nature.

Red Harvest is the tale of Personville, known to the locals as Poisonville, and "The Continental Op" - as he's known in the Hammett world, he never gives a name in the story - a hired gun who tries to clean the town up. The Op comes to Personville to meet with a newspaper publisher, only for the publisher to be murdered at about the time they were supposed to meet. The publisher's father, who at one point was the great power behind the town, hires the Op to roust some thugs who have taken control of the town into their own hands through various ways - plants in the police dept, bootlegging, armies of thugs, bank robberies, murders, other means of intimidation.

Torn on the rating for this, because while I started out enjoying it, as the ending approached, I was a bit underwhelmed. A lot of my favorite films and books with this kind of thuggery are making a bigger point, which is why I like them - Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire, "The Sopranos," "The Wire" - they all use wars, deception, large scale power plays as a front for a larger commentary on power and violence, and that makes them purposeful. I'm not opposed to action for action's sake, and generally don't have a problem with a story that's simply that - a story, and not a vehicle for a deeper meaning. So I can't quite fix why I wasn't totally satisfied with the way this story wrapped up.

It's not that I minded all the shooting and double-crossing - I enjoyed all of that, it's just that it feels... hollow. And maybe that's the point here, that this town has been reduced to an endless circle of crime - crime as payback for crime, with no deeper justice or purpose. The most powerful moment in all of Red Harvest is when the Op tells Dinah Brand - the only woman with a major role in the book, and naturally she "gets around" and is a bit greedy - that he feels like Personville is turning him into someone who enjoys murder and killing, and that that isn't him. To which I'm skeptical - you're a special operative, isn't that part of your job? But then that could also be the point - that Personville is simply reflecting a not-so-hidden desire.

I also wonder if modern storytelling, as obsessed with twists, shocks, and surprise as it is, has ruined something like this for me. I was expecting a certain amount of surprise, and instead it felt straight-forward and obvious. Which, again, isn't inherently bad, just not what I had expected. (view spoiler)[I was kind of hoping, in a way, that he had killed Dinah, because that really would've been a commentary on the state of his soul - but, alas. Even thought it felt like he wanted the reader to think it was a possibility, I never truly suspected the Op of doing it. (hide spoiler)]

The writing is probably the best part - cutting, direct, snappy and full of alliteration and hilarious quips. However, there are a handful of times where practicality/normality are forfeited in the name of style. I can absolutely buy into a world where everyone is clever all of the time without question, but mess with speech patterns too much and you'll take me out of the story - for example, when the Op and the dead man's wife are talking about suspects, she says, "It was he, it was he" and that's just not natural speech flow - it made me do a double-take. However, on the whole, there aren't many moments like this, and they're cancelled out by the moments that are quite hysterical - you should see a few below in the "quotes" - but this one from early on was one of my favorites:

"Who shot him?" I asked.The grey man scratched the back of his neck and said: "Somebody with a gun."

The writing is also particularly vivid, and you can understand easily why these kinds of novels make such great films.

The major thing that stands out in comparing this with Denis Johnson's Nobody Move, which I read earlier this year and loved, is that there just doesn't seem to be a place for women in this world, and I don't know that that's necessarily Hammett's short-coming as it is a sign of the times. Dinah - who drinks incessantly, fraternizes with criminals, and as I mention above is fairly money-driven - is actually a strong character, both internally in that she can stand to Personville's baddest criminals, and externally in that she even manhandles the guy who is more or less functioning as her bodyguard. The Op's initial treatment of her is harsh - he criticizes her crooked lipstick and the runs in her stockings, and makes fun that a woman who's a bit unkempt could be the town's criminal heartthrob. She eventually wins him over, but still - it's not a happy story for her (not that it is a particularly happy story for anyone), or for any of the other women who make brief appearances - the wife of the dead journalist, and the hysterical/crazy sister of one of the mobsters, who can't even so much as speak.

Despite its flaws, this was a fun read, and good enough that I'll be moved to pick up Hammett again in the future.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more

The scariest movie to me will probably always be The Shining* (no, I haven't read the book), because it subverts the two things that are scariest: 1.The scariest movie to me will probably always be The Shining* (no, I haven't read the book), because it subverts the two things that are scariest: 1. One's own mind turning in on itself, 2. Not being able to trust someone you used to trust implicitly (which is basically an off-shoot of #1, since one would hope to be able to trust oneself). When I watched You're Next with my boyfriend last night, it wasn't so much the movie itself that scared me, as the thought of the ways that my mind might twist it and make it worse in nightmares - which is why I always make us watch something funny before bed.

Even though the set-up sounds fairly standard - a Dr. invites two women to live in a haunted house and study it, and a man who's to inherit the house comes along - The Haunting of Hill House is definitely a touchstone in the great tradition of haunted house tales, and while I haven't read The Shining, it's fairly obvious that King was influenced by Jackson and this book.

I struggle a bit in thinking about how to review this - I worry about giving too much away, though I'm not sure that standard plot spoilers would truly damage anyone's reaction. As with so many good scary things, the fear is so personal, so internalized, that telling you what happens may not render the reading experience any less potent.

Still, I loathe to ruin something so great for anyone, but there are a few things I can still tell you.

Firstly, Jackson's writing style - I just ate it all up. Equal turns blunt and meandering, Jackson's rhythm for The Haunting of Hill House worked perfectly - smooth in places and ragged in others, keen observations passed as slight remarks, only to have you notice their importance later on.

I admit to having a love for being deceived, and for decent chunks of what was happening, I cop to being none-the-wiser until the very end. Jackson doesn't spell anything out all the way, and I have a feeling that were I to read this all over again, I'd be doing a lot of "ohhhh." That's probably what I loved most of all about this book - it's not scary in a blood-guts-and-gore kind of way, but a slowly sinking realization, the kind that might make you feel a bit "eh" at first, but gets scarier and scarier the more you wrap your mind around it.

There was a moment where I wondered if Jackson was inspired by a true-life Vermont scary story - Eleanor, who basically takes on the role of main character in Haunting of Hill House, was invited by the Dr. because as a child, rocks kept continuously falling on her house, with no explanation why. This made me think of the Waterman house in Windsor, VT, which is just down the street from my boyfriend's parents. Legend has it the Watermans experienced a phenomena where their house continually kept filling up with water, with no logical reason. It even rained inside the house. This continued for a few days, then stopped at random. This happened a few years before Hill House came out, and Jackson was, unsurprisingly, fascinated by this kind of stuff, so I wonder if it might've inspired her.

Honestly, I'm not doing this justice, and I'm not sure that I can, but I'm interested to see how the discussion in book club plays out. A good one to read if you like your scares with a dose of smarts.

Edit, Nov. 6, 2014: We had the discussion for this in book club last night, and I think this is officially the first book we all liked. (see my "black books" shelf if you're interested in others we've read.)

Also, I forgot to mention: we watched the movie version, The Haunting - the 1963 one, not the newer one, which I'm told is atrocious (and I will probably watch it anyway). One interesting thing about the film is that it significantly played up a romance - or at least some kind of tension - between Eleanor and the Dr., which I found to be an intriguing concept. The book is more clearly pushing her towards Luke, but I could see her going for the Doctor, as well - someone protective and grounded. Despite some significant plot changes (that romantic implication, the total removal of the wife's companion), it was a great film and worth watching for those who enjoyed this....more

I first have to thank Goodreads for putting Turning of the Screw in my path -- in my hunt for scary reads for this month, I consulted a few "best scarI first have to thank Goodreads for putting Turning of the Screw in my path -- in my hunt for scary reads for this month, I consulted a few "best scary books," "best gothic books" GR lists and found this one on quite a lot of them, so thank you, Goodreads.

The set-up for Turn of the Screw is rather charming - a gentleman surrounded by a group of friends, sharing this passed-down story from his old caretaker/governess - quite literally passed down in that he has to refer to her hand-written pages. We never get her name, or any sort of background about her, other than that she was a governess for our initial narrator, as well as in the larger story. He goes on to read from her pages, about a time when a handsome stranger approached her in the guise of looking for care for his niece and nephew, who he inherited through a string of family accidents, but can't be bothered to care for in any way other than material - he's got them set up in a house with servants, in an out of sight, out of mind type of deal. His only request is that she doesn't bother him about their care. NOT WEIRD AT ALL.

Though delighted with the children who by and large act like angels - which I admit is highly suspicious in and of itself, even good kids have their not-so-good moments, especially with authority figures - she slowly becomes convinced that the ghosts of their former caretakers are coming after them, and that the children are even engaged and delighted by the thought of being reunited with these ghastly spirits.

An interesting point of comparison for this with Haunting of Hill House is that in both stories the actual drama (regardless of whether or not it can be vouched for as "true") is quite low, plot-wise. The real hook-line-and-sinker is what's going on in the heads of our narrators, whose questionable mental states elevate the smallest bit of oddity or tension into an all-out crisis. It makes for a reading experience that's like a vise - pressure builds and builds until you feel like it's going to burst, and in both cases, closing the book brings a strange sort of relief. Even though I read it in only a few days, it felt like it took so much longer because of the intensity that comes along with the experience - it felt like carrying a weight of sorts. I couldn't put it down and probably would've blasted through it in a single day had it not been for the hectic schedule that is my life right now.

James manages to build a lot more tension with a lot less action, but his narrator is also considerably more hysterical and over-wrought. Admittedly it's a bit much at times, which is why I struggled considerably more with the question of the narrator's sanity in this, even though we're given no reasons to be wary based on her past experiences (as compared with Hill House's Eleanor). The build up in Hill House is gradual, which means Eleanor had more success in putting me in her corner. That said, it raises the point of intent for the reader in each case - how much are we supposed to be questioning the narrators, and is there a specific point where we're supposed to begin our questioning, or a point where our doubt is supposed to be greatest? I appreciated both responses and approaches.

I stumbled over the wording in Turning of the Screw at points, and I can't honestly say if that's just a time period thing for me since I tend to read more modern works, or if that's a style and structure in this particular instance kind of thing, but it's the one aspect of the book that made it less of a smooth ride.

I was glad to have it as a touchstone for collecting my thoughts about Haunting of Hill House - having not read much in the realm of scary works, it was hard for me to totally develop my feelings on it (as evidenced by my scattered review), and reading these two back-to-back made for a fun experience, both on a superficial level of pure enjoyment, as well as a deeper, more analytic level. As I mentioned in my review for Hill House, psychological horror is far and away my favorite kind, so if anyone has any similar reads to recommend, do let me know. (Rosemary's Baby is definitely on the list!)...more

Years back, I had a discussion with a friend where I argued that writing a good short story is not necessarily less difficult than writing a novel jusYears back, I had a discussion with a friend where I argued that writing a good short story is not necessarily less difficult than writing a novel just because it's shorter (granted, I've never written a novel, so I admit that I'm full of shit in some extent here). You need to create a powerful story and characters in just a few pages, whereas more pages mean more time to do set-up, more time to build the readers' connection with your story and your characters.

Part of the reason I made this argument is because I do think a good short story can be just as memorable as a book - however, I've read fewer short stories and short story collections that have truly stuck with me. My favorites are John Cheever, Flannery O'Connor, Raymond Carver... I have a few others sitting on my shelf, but to be honest, it takes more motivation for me to pick them up - short story collections can be disjointed, uneven, and a lot of the times just fight to hold my interest more than a novel (which isn't to say that novels can't be disjointed or uneven, either!)

Having said that, the great ones are like having read a plethora of books in much less time, and just as satisfying. I've been lucky enough to have read two collections that truly bowled me over this year - Junot Diaz's This is How You Lose Her, and this one, Megan Mayhew Bergman's Birds of a Lesser Paradise.

Much like This is How You Lose Her, there are distinct themes running through Birds of a Lesser Paradise - family (the balance of support and care with fighting and nit-picking as children and parents are wont to do), struggling relationships, the human world and animal/natural world reflecting but also contrasting each other, wanting something that is just barely out of reach, whether to give up something to gain something else.

I appreciated reading so many engrossing women narrators - all strong and charming in their own ways, but flawed in their own ways, too. Each character feels like a stone's throw from each other - which isn't to say that they are too similar in personality or nature, simply that Bergman has a way of touching upon struggles not only that many women go through, but that I'd imagine many men do, as well. It hits on an emotional level in two ways - on a surface level due to the plot of the stories themselves, and on a deeper level, in that these stories are likely to trigger emotions based in the reader's own life, as well. I connected with it strongly in both ways.

Bergman's writing is graceful, and hits that sweet spot of being not overly flowery, nor starkly plain. She's not showing off in every sentence (which is very much a compliment in my world), but she pulls out the punches when she needs to, and they pack quite the wallop. Each story feels natural, contained, complete - though granted, you'll want more because they're so good.

I saw Bergman read at Dartmouth about a year ago now, and was hypnotized by her voice (both on the page and off), so I was immensely irritated that the book was checked out from the library - it wasn't available again until a few weeks ago, and I get why it kept flying off the shelf and was so hard to get my hands on. I clearly should've just bought a copy - which I will now - because I definitely want this in my library....more

I went in to Orlando wanting to adore every ounce of it. Virginia Woolf is an inherently fascinating person, and what woman writer hasn't read A RoomI went in to Orlando wanting to adore every ounce of it. Virginia Woolf is an inherently fascinating person, and what woman writer hasn't read A Room of One's Own and been completely and utterly thrilled with it? I don't think I've found one.

However, I found Orlando unwieldy and hard to pierce - not because it's dense so much as I found it airy and shallow, which I hadn't suspected. With a story about an aristocrat who changes genders and lives 300+ years, I expected it to be more on the deep end, but instead it skims along hundreds of surfaces, rarely diving to look underneath.

I thought there would be critique on gender - of which there was some, but it wasn't overwhelmingly profound - same to be said with any amount of commentary it had on history. I expected and in some ways wanted Orlando to be more challenging and complex than it was.

Which is fine, except, without that it didn't hold a lot of meaning for me. The story was only a story by the loosest of definitions, and because of its habit of touching on something only to move on quickly thereafter, I wasn't able to connect with Orlando, or any other character or event, on a deep enough level to be moved by it. Almost every time Woolf would touch on a thought or a concept that intrigued me in some way, she'd drop it a paragraph or two later, whereas the things she'd spend several pages on didn't thrill me.

Orlando as a character also didn't grab me - conceptually, yes, absolutely - but in actuality, not at all. Orlando is naive, self-centered, and self-indulgent on both sides of gender. As it moved towards the end Orlando finally grew up some and shucked some of their naivety, but by the time that happened, the plot more or less fell apart, and the story was done. The introduction to the version I read challenged the idea, so often stated, that this is a "love letter" to Vita Sackville-West, noting that it makes fun of Orlando, and doesn't paint the nicest portrait of its title character, and I'm inclined to agree.

The writing, of course, was lovely, but to be honest, it was a bit too lovely, too perfect, too light. Like a pretty song, it would literally lull me to sleep at times, making it quite difficult to read.

This isn't to say there weren't times and parts that I enjoyed, and it was truly funny in places - the mention that rich people don't make great poets, when Orlando changes into a woman and discovers the power of showing flesh - but again, these parts were short lived and not frequent enough to keep me hooked.

From a distant view, I love the idea, I appreciate the concept behind it, the quality of the writing, and the uniqueness of it all. I understand its significance, and why there are the people who adore it. But ultimately Orlando feels like a book that's written to be written, not so much to be read - and I respect that, I do, but that doesn't mean it satisfied me as a reader.

The best way, still, that I can think of to summarize my feelings on Orlando is to use a situation directly from it. Orlando, post-switch into woman, joins a group of intellectuals and discovers that they save all their brilliance for the page - and are quite dull in person (also one of the funnier moments). She later connects with a group of prostitutes and discovers that they're considerably more fun to spend time with. This book to me, is the group of intellectuals. Quite brilliant on the page and all, but there are others that I find so much more fun.

This feels like a book that I may need to try again a few years down the line, but for now the question is, is there a Woolf novel that I will totally adore? I sure hope so....more

Recently, I was chatting with my friends about how I am fascinated by serial killers, in large part because I grew up in the shadow of the Green RiverRecently, I was chatting with my friends about how I am fascinated by serial killers, in large part because I grew up in the shadow of the Green River Killer. He was at large for a huge chunk of my youth, and left a lot of his victims around Auburn and Kent, which are not very far away from the home where I grew up, plus he met a lot of his victims near the airport, which is five to ten minutes from all three houses I lived in during my childhood. It wasn't that I was especially concerned about being targeted (I was 14 and under for most of the time he was active, and his victims tended to be older, and prostitutes), but you can't really live around that and not have it affect the way you view people and the world and life and that kind of thing. Add to that having a dead parent (not from a serial killer, for the record) and you've got the makings for someone with a life-long fascination (and fear of) death.

Anyway, discussing serial killers led my good friend and derby wife to push this awesome graphic novel into my hands one night. I'd like to read more graphic novels, but I never really know where to go or start, which intimidates me, so having someone else just put one in my hands is quite helpful. Apparently Rick Geary has a whole series of graphic novels about serial killers, this is just my friend's favorite, so she wanted me to start with it.

I'd never heard of the Bloody Benders before picking this up, but they are largely considered America's first serial killers. Around 1870, they set up a small convenience store with room for lodging in Labette County, Kansas, and preyed on travelers who stopped there, mostly to steal their cash and sell their goods. They killed quite the impressive amount of people, as their victims tended to just be reported missing. Eventually, a friend of one of the missing people set out on a hunt to find them. They found the Benders awfully suspicious but didn't have enough evidence to arrest - and by the time they were ready to revisit them as suspects, the Benders had fled, leaving a creepy murder cellar and an orchard full of bodies behind.

No one knows for sure what happened to them after that - and no one is entirely sure that they were who they said they were to begin with, which makes for a particularly creepy case. So, the one thing that really killed me, so to speak, was that I wanted to know so much more than what was found within these pages, but Geary clearly did his research, so it's no slight to him - there's just only so much information about them out there.

I am fairly horrid at drawing, so pretty much any kind of art impresses me, but I found the drawing in The Bloody Benders excellent - simple but not boring black-and-white art, which was perfect for giving it an old-timey, newspapery feel.

Overall, a fun and quick read for anyone who's also fascinated by serial killers, and definitely left me wanting to borrow the rest of the series....more

My coworker brought this in for me to borrow after I told him how much I loved True Grit. Turns out that like Portis, he's from Arkansas, and did hisMy coworker brought this in for me to borrow after I told him how much I loved True Grit. Turns out that like Portis, he's from Arkansas, and did his Master's Thesis on the work of Charles Portis. He told me that Norwood isn't about anything and wasn't sure if I would like it.

I wouldn't totally agree that Norwood is about nothing. Norwood is forced to leave the armed services after his father (I think? It's not entirely clear, to be honest) passes away, and he needs to take care of his sister, who's beside herself with grief. Before leaving, he forgets to collect $70 he's owed by a friend. Norwood moves back home, and after some amount of time, decides he can't forget this debt that is owed him, and finds a business opportunity that will take him to NYC, where his friend who owes him money is currently living. Norwood is about the people he meets along the way of his road trip to NYC.

Like True Grit, Portis his a biting, sarcastic, oddly situational sense of humor that I completely connect with, and also similarly to True Grit, Norwood is about something of a quest, or a journey. I didn't quite connect with Norwood the way that I did with Maddie Ross, but my life story makes me somewhat predisposed to connecting with Maddie Ross, so I can't fully say if it's a mark of the writing or just my own personal biases. Norwood also feels shorter and covers a shorter span of time, so it doesn't feel like we're given quite the same amount of time to bond with him, which was really the only downside I could think of for Norwood -- I wanted to spend more time with him and get to know him better. And really, nine times out of ten, a book that leaves you wanting more is worth more than one that feels too long....more

I'd like to apologize for the times that I've made fun of you in any way, shape or form, including the kid in my English 2 class sopDear Stephen King,

I'd like to apologize for the times that I've made fun of you in any way, shape or form, including the kid in my English 2 class sophomore year who would not stop raving about you as if you were the only person to ever write a book.

It's not that I think that kid was justified for only ever reading your books and no-one else's, and it's not that I thought you were a horrible writer and now I think you're amazing.

But, this was really quite a pleasant surprise. I'm not sure what I expected. This was recommended by someone whose taste I trust, so I didn't expect it to be bad, but I don't know that I had anticipated that I would enjoy it quite so much as I did.

Basically, Roland ("the Gunslinger") is chasing "The Man in Black" (which couldn't help but remind me of Johnny Cash, especially considering this whole Western theme) across a desert. In the process of this, he meets a lot of people (major characters include a woman with a scar on her face, a young boy and a guy with a house in the desert), shoots up an entire town, runs away from/kills mutants, talks about his history, and a few different worlds and languages that I still don't really entirely understand. It's all a little confusing and some things were cleared up and some things weren't. I forgive you the confusion, though, because I'm sure that's part of what's supposed to keep us pushing on to the next book in the series.

Roland is an interesting enough character, though a somewhat typical hero type - complete loner, no more connections with anyone he loves (friends, family, romance), continuing on a quest because he's sworn out of some kind of duty and he's unrelenting, even at the sake of others' lives and his own, best on his own, etc. You've sent him through some compelling moral dilemmas and it's just the first book (HOLYSHIT THERE'S SEVEN), so I'm interested to see what you do with the rest of them. And your descriptions are one of the best things about the book - I can picture everything pretty clearly.

Honestly, my biggest complaint is a small one: you use the word "sardonic" way too much! I swear, you use it more than I heard it in my 23 previous years - doubled, and I read some smart shit. You could've just said "everything is sardonic," and it would've achieved the same point. I should've kept a running tally. There were also a couple others words that seemed out of place, like you were trying to say, "I know my way around a dictionary, and here's proof! See, I'm fucking smart!" Which I don't have a problem with if it feels natural, and I can't say that about some of your word choices.

All in all, it's an adventure book, so I can't say I derived any huge themes from it, but also, hey, it's only the first book, and you've got the leisure of stretching your point over many of them, should you ultimately have one (which I would hope you do). It's off to a decent start, though, and I think there really is some good promise contained here, so I'll definitely be checking out the next book in the series.

I liked it enough to not be embarrassed by the fact that I was reading one of your books, so that's a clear victory for you. Congrats!

I read this so that I could review it in Resonance, and it was absolutely fantastic and riveting. I didn't know much about Lisa Crystal Carver going iI read this so that I could review it in Resonance, and it was absolutely fantastic and riveting. I didn't know much about Lisa Crystal Carver going into it, but as it turns out, she's a minor celebrity, having been involved with (either sexually or art-wise) lots of famous underground musicians. The writing style is exactly as it should be for a memoir - sometimes it feels like she's writing in her diary, because the facts are just so shocking and personal, and other times it feels like you're sitting down and having a conversation with her. You really feel like you know her, and more importantly, you care about her life and what she has to say, which is something I occasionally struggle with when it comes to memoirs....more

The first of Murakami's that I read, and I will definitely be reaching for another. A good, relatively quick read that makes you lonely but is still cThe first of Murakami's that I read, and I will definitely be reaching for another. A good, relatively quick read that makes you lonely but is still comforting....more

My biggest complaint about this is mostly stylistic: for someone who's supposedly a journalist, this guy has horrible journalistic style. He constantlMy biggest complaint about this is mostly stylistic: for someone who's supposedly a journalist, this guy has horrible journalistic style. He constantly switches around the names that he refers to people by - at different times calling someone by their first name, last name, or nickname. So, it's very easy to get confused about who's he's talking about when he's referring to one person by three different names.

Style aside, this is a great book. It gives a lot of insight into hip-hop, in terms of where it sprouted from, and some of the behind the scenes pioneers, and does a thorough job of explaining some of the genre's more negative aspects and reputations. In the process, you learn a lot about the economic situation of the people involved, and where some of the other aspects of the hip hop generation sprouted from, such as gangs, graffiti, break-dancing, etc. I wish there was a little bit more in it that was current, but I'm sure that it took a lot of time for him to work on this, so when he wrote it, it probably was still pretty recent. And it could also be his own way of turning up a nose to more recent artists/forms of rap.

There was a lot more historical and societal information than I had anticipated, so occasionally I got a little overloaded on facts and had to sort of take breathers from it every once and awhile so that I wouldn't forget everything or get overwhelmed.

This is definitely a must for anyone who likes hip-hop or an aspect of the culture, and even those who are the genre's greatest detractors. People who reduce rap to being about violence, money and objectifying women might find themselves surprised a) to see that rap is much, much more than that, and b) to see why and how it got that nasty reputation....more